Night Terrors
by two fish
Summary: James Potter, recovering from his encounter with a Slytherin bludger, is having night terrors, and Lily Evans has finally agreed to sleep with him. Platonically, of course.


**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own _Harry Potter_. Even sadder, I think it's the other way around…

Night Terrors

**I**

Once, as a child, she had watched her favorite glass figurine teeter over the edge of a tall bookshelf. A crystalline pony, its hooves in the air, for one moment in its entire inanimate existence brazenly rearing on the ledge of its own destruction. Didn't it know, didn't it know, that two feet below it would shatter upon the polished wood floor? She remembered the way the light had caught it just as it had begun to fall, how she had held her breath and waited for its ruin.

It had been the first time she had ever felt the chill of that nameless emotion, and now, years later, the same nauseating sensation gripped her like a pair of icy hands, the scene so grotesquely similar.

He, the proverbial stag, stood perfectly still on the cracked stone balustrade, naked feet deathly blue in the cold. The March wind rustled his gray sweater and tickled the ends of his messy black hair, threatening to disturb his delicate balance.

She absently noticed that a white bandage had been wrapped thrice around his head and that he was wearing bottoms littered with little yellow ducks, pieces of humor so out of place in such a humorless setting. In a wild moment of carelessness she nearly laughed, but caught herself—she dared not disrupt the careful silence.

Had it only been ten minutes ago that they had stood in the dark common room and told her that James Potter had just tried to throw himself off the Astronomy tower? No, surely it had been no less than an eternity. The clock had read a quarter past three in the morning. She had been fantastically disappointed. And now, guilty, so guilty for not seeing the gravity of the situation. So easy it was to make a joke, so easy it was to say, "Oh, and who's the bloody wanker that stopped him?" How foolish that seemed now. How fantastically foolish.

"Listen Prongs."

So swiftly their silence fell, like a flimsy house of cards. She was suddenly aware of Sirius Black standing not four feet off, and it was a startling realization to discover that she was not alone with James: for the longest time she had been under the delusion that it had been just the two of them, no one else.

But Sirius continued. "I know that nasty bludger knocked a few things loose in that head of yours, but this is a little over the edge." He laughed nervously, and Professor McGonagall sent him a nasty stare that could have petrified a first year. "No pun intended, mate," he added.

"Not—helping," mouthed Remus Lupin furiously; it was obvious that he expected James to jump any time now. Plump Peter Pettigrew, unsure of what to do, shifted nervously. Their hysteria unnerved her; she felt the thin ice they had been treading begin to crack.

Madame Pomphrey, also present, turned to her slowly, her quiet voice drifting lightly on the night air: "Miss Evans, I suggest you do something." The calmness of her tone shocked Lily, who knew she must have misheard her. She furrowed her brow, horribly confused.

"Me?" asked Lily breathlessly.

"Of course. That's why we brought you."

"But what can I do?"

"We'd like you to call him, to see if you can get him to come down so we can escort him back to the Infirmary."

"But why _me_?"

The Madame seemed to shrug. "I'm afraid you'll have to ask Mr. Black—it was his idea. He seems to think that Mr. Potter...responds well to you, Miss Evans."

Lily glanced sidelong at Sirius, then returned her gaze to James. She swallowed hard, frowned, and took a tentative step forward. "Pott—" she began nervously, but corrected herself, "J-James. This is Lily, James. Lily Evans," she said cautiously. "James, can you—?"

He turned around so fast that she was certain he would lose his balance. But more startling than his abrupt movement was the vacant, unseeing look on his face, and the fact that for once he wasn't wearing his glasses. She was struck by how different he looked without them, and his characteristic smirk.

"James?" she called again.

Something in him stirred. He stepped down from the ledge and closed the space between them with long, determined steps, and in the same swift, graceful motion, flung himself into her arms, his body going completely limp.

Stunned, Lily stumbled backwards with his weight. His nose smudged against the nape of her neck, and she could tell by his warm, steady breaths that he was once again unconscious. "The hell, Potter," she argued uselessly as he continued to drool on her.

She felt a sigh of relief ripple across the tower. The Headmaster approached her graciously, and said with an impish smile, "Well done, Miss Evans." He patted Lily's shoulder comfortingly.

"We'll take him from here, dear," assured Madame Pomphrey, now struggling to unburden Lily of James Potter's strangely lifeless body.

A stern-faced McGonagall turned to the rest of the Marauders and scrutinized them with a critical frown. "I will not ask how the three of you managed to discover Mr. Potter in such a state," she said. "Nor will I assume that you had anything to do with his…escapades, given his unstable condition. But rest assured I will be keeping a wary eye. _Goodnight_."

The three boys muttered their replies. Their faces looked tired, but whether it was from that night's escapades or their attempts to keep their characteristic confidence afloat, Lily couldn't tell. Nonetheless, she turned to join them at the stairwell.

"And Miss Evans!" McGonagall called shrilly after her. "_Ten points to Gryffindor_!"

**II**

James Potter sat in the Great Hall two days later, mulling his recent dilemma over a bowl of lumpy porridge. It was an admirable feat, considering that a little less than seventy two hours ago his head had gotten in the way of a Slytherin bludger allegedly aimed for a Gryffindor hoop in the opposite direction.

Suddenly nauseous with the unpleasant memory, James pushed aside his breakfast, his head throbbing. Looking up, he found that Sirius Black had recently come to occupy the seat beside him. "Morning, Sunshine. Attempted to commit suicide lately?" He crossed his legs casually and pretended to be interested in a copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"No," muttered James, not amused. He took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Sirius," he asked suddenly, "do you think you would mind sleeping with me for a while?"

Sirius considered this and decided that he would _not_.

James frowned, a bit put out. "So you'll romp around all night with Mooney but you won't share a bed with _me_?"

"Well…maybe if you wore that blonde wig that makes you look like—"

"Sirius, I'm being serious."

"Not again," the voice of Remus Lupin cut in. He appeared abruptly in a chair on the other side of the table. "You tried that once, James, with the Polyjuice, and even then you couldn't get Lily to sleep with you."

"NOT THE POINT!" James shouted, growing exponentially frustrated.

"It's okay, Prongs, really," Sirius soothed, discarding the newspaper and patting him on the back. "Look, I'm sure if you asked Mooney here to sleep with you, he would."

"He bites," James muttered pathetically.

Remus frowned. "Thanks, James."

**III**

Lily Evans stared boredly as Vincent Zambini and his friends flicked bits of parchment at James Potter's unconscious form, some of them landing in the pool of drool trickling from the corner of his lips.

James had been acting strange since that night on the Astronomy Tower. He never slept except in class, but that was hardly unusual. He _did_ look more dishevled as of late: his clothes were always wrinkled, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he gave the impression of being constantly in a state of mass hysteria. It was also strange that, although Madame Pomphrey had deemed it quite unnecessary, James insisted on keeping his head bandaged, as if he refused to accept the fact that he was now quite well.

Lily was jolted from her musings when Professor Slughorn announced that it was time for them to begin their potions. She got up from her seat and made her way to the supply closet, making sure to pass by James as she went.

"Potter," she whispered harshly, prodding his arm with her finger. He jumped, startling her, and looked up with wide, frantic eyes. "Where am I?" he asked immediately and with a highly suspicious tone.

Lily sighed. "Is Potions, Potter," she told him, then continued on.

Second later, she was reaching helplessly for a jar of pickled newts and suddenly felt him approach her from behind. "Evans," he said, his voice tickling her ear as he reached effortlessly for the jar himself, "I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor." His free hand grazed her hip, and she finally snapped.

"What do you want, Potter?" Lily said bluntly, turning around to face him. She snatched the jar ungratefully from his hand and walked off. James followed her to her seat, grabbing a small chopping knife from the table and setting himself to work.

"Well," he began, "ever since I got hit by that bludger, I've been having these _night terrors_. At least that's what Poppy calls them. They make me do things like, you know, stand on the ledges of Astronomy towers at three in the morning." She didn't find this funny.

"Anyway," he continued, "I got to thinking that maybe it's not such a good idea for me to be sleeping alone anymore. So I thought since we're both Heads and all, and we practically live together anyway, that maybe you could sleep with me …platonically, of course," he added, in response to her blank look.

"Potter," she deadpanned, after finally deciding that he was indeed quite serious, "how stupid do you think I am?"

She put down her own knife before the urge to castrate him became too strong, and then proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the day.

**IV**

"Hey, Lily? What'd you get for question twenty-seven, _How to get my Best Friend to stop thinking about James Potter?_"

Lily continued to stare at the sentence in her textbook, the one she'd been reading for the past two hours. "There is no question twenty-seven…" she murmured vaguely.

"Lily…"

"I'm not thinking about Potter, Alice."

A handful of minutes later: "I mean, what are '_night terrors' _anyway? Are they even _real_?"

Alice stared quite blankly at her best friend. "Come again?"

"Potter!" Lily cried, arousing stares from the few students that still littered the library. "He _claims _to be having these, these '_night terrors' _and now he wants me to sleep with him."

"…Well that's nothing new, is it?"

"Dunno. Thing is, I can't tell if he's being serious or not."

"Oh, surely he wouldn't try _that _again."

"No, _serious_, serious, not Black," said Lily offhandedly, and then with utmost resolve: "I _must_ research."

Alice watched the redhead walk off, noting the determination in her strides. Deciding that she was likely to stay in the library until morning, Alice gathered her things and went off to find and snog Frank Longbottom.

**V**

"Sparkling Wiggles," said Lily to the Fat Lady.

The clock struck two as she stumbled into the Gryffindor common room, clutching Alice's Transfiguration homework, for in her rush to find and snog Frank Longbottom, Alice had quite erroneously left it in the Library.

After tacking it to Alice's bedpost, Lily quietly closed the dormitory door and began her weary descent of the staircase. About halfway down, she noticed a dark figure slumped in a chair by the fireplace, which, upon further investigation, proved to be none other than James Potter.

Nearing him, Lily noticed a tall mug of strange purple liquid lying half-empty on the table beside his chair. From its sweet aroma of rotted beetle and gnome snot, she assumed it must be Drumhilda's De-Drowsing Dreamless Drought, obviously _not_ a work. James murmured something incomprehensible and barely managed to open his eyes at the sound of her approach.

"Mmm, Evans," he slurred, half-awake, face illuminated by the flickering flames.

Lily sighed at his pitiful condition. Grabbing an afghan from one of the sofas, she tossed it over him, then carefully removed his round glasses and set them on the table.

"No…" he muttered melodramatically in protest. "Must stay awake…"

"Potter," Lily said gently, "you need to sleep." She had turned to leave when suddenly he reached for her wrist.

"Sleep with me, Evans," he said blearily, thumb softly stroking her skin.

Lily scowled. "You never quit, do you, Potter?" she snapped, slapping him hard on the cheek.

"Blood hell!"

Lily tossed a very _awake_ James Potter a very _rude_ hand gesture before disappearing promptly behind the portrait hole.


End file.
